


Broken Dreams

by alex_kade



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Whump, basically rewrote the entire end of Obsession, ezra and chris whump, it would've been its own entire episode, it's so much longer now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25375363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: OW: A little - okay a lot of - reworking the ending of 'Obsession' with tons more whump and angst and everything that makes us morbid fans smile.
Kudos: 23





	Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was in response to a writing challenge I did eons ago: take any scene from any episode and rewrite the end to it. I chose to re-do the end of 'Obsession' since it was the last episode, and therefore I was free to do whatever I wanted with it without my rewrite being in conflict with any other episode. Naturally, my evil psycho came out to play again for this one, which means poor Ezra had to suffer. Again. Because all fans of Ezra have to beat on him. But Chris has his healing stuff too so Ezra isn't alone.

"Nathan, on your right!" Ezra hollered as he leaned a little too far around the wagon to cover the healer. A second later he felt the impact of a bullet slam against the left side of his chest, throwing him back against the wood. He slid down to the dirt, too stunned to speak and barely able to breathe as pain registered in a spreading inferno around the very same spot where he had taken his last bullet only a month before.

"Ezra, you hit?" Josiah's concerned voice called out to him even as the preacher made his way around to him, shouting at Nathan to give them some cover fire. He didn't wait for the gambler's answer; instead he ran his fingers around the torn area of fabric and frowned in confusion. "No blood," he speculated to himself, then dug into the Southerner's vest pocket to pull out the bent remains of the brooch. "It hit the diamond."

"My diamond?" Standish whimpered with a distraught look. "I lost my…" A small moan cut off the rest of his sentence as the pain flared again.

Josiah, in sympathetic worry, rested a hand on his shoulder. "Better the diamond than your life, brother." More bullets flew in their direction, forcing the preacher to squat over his fallen comrade as he returned fire. The conman didn't even try to move, just sat in a sort of daze, which worried Josiah even more, but there wasn't much he could about it at the moment. Everyone was pinned down in the midst of the gunfight.

Ezra tentatively brushed his hand across the still-fresh scar from the governor's rally, the sensitive nerves around the healing flesh burning him from beneath the bandage that Nathan had insisted stay in place until his injured ribs healed completely. With a short laugh that he quickly cut off with a gasp, he realized that his recovery time had probably just grown by another several weeks. Or more. He understood the bruising pain of blunt force against ribs that had been healed to nearly bruise-free, but the sharp, stabbing sensation he couldn't wrap his mind around. He couldn't take a full breath of air without it feeling like someone was pressing the point of a blade to his lung. The previous wound couldn't possibly be causing him that much discomfort, could it?

There was a short reprieve in the gunfire, just enough for Josiah to turn back and really see how much the Southerner seemed to be struggling with drawing in air, his features pale and his eyes clamped firmly shut. There may not have been any blood, but it was clear that damage had been done. He was about ready to call out for Nathan when another shot rang out and they could hear Buck calling Hilda's name. Ezra looked up at Josiah and shook his head as the healer rushed over to be with the woman. He could wait.

Time was lost on Ezra as he simply focused on taking one small breath after another, testing how far he could expand his lungs before feeling the bite of whatever it was that was attacking him from the inside. He hadn't actually noticed when, exactly, the shootout had ended, but he did catch the fear in Vin's voice as the sharpshooter hollered for Nathan.

"Josiah?" he questioned carefully between taking in what tiny amounts of air he could.

"Chris has been shot," the preacher answered. "Looks bad. How're you holding up?"

"Not…good…" Ezra admittedly panted out.

Josiah frowned and looked back over to where Nathan was trying to tend to Chris. He didn't want to interrupt the healer, but he couldn't just keep postponing asking for help, not with the way the gambler was struggling. If a man had to concentrate so intently just to draw in air, something had to be horribly wrong. Mind made up, he lightly called out Nathan's name.

"How bad?" was the healer's quick reply as he pressed a bandage to the gunslinger's side. He had hoped since his attention hadn't been called before now that Standish hadn't been severely injured, but the tone in Josiah's voice now suggested otherwise.

"I don't know, but he doesn't look good," the preacher answered back.

Nathan grimaced and shouted for Buck and JD to come help Vin get Chris into the house. The ladies' man had just helped move Hilda's body inside and looked in no mood to help play doctor, but there was no other choice. It would take two of them to get the gunslinger in, and one – JD – to keep the pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Move real slow now, and hold that tight," the healer instructed as Chris was lifted off the ground.

"We got 'im, Nate," Buck assured softly. "Go help Ezra."

With a nod, Nathan grabbed up his bag and hurried over to where Josiah was sitting with Ezra behind the wagon. The preacher had every right to be concerned; Ezra did _not_ look well. The gambler cracked one eye open and a ghost of a smile lit his features.

"There somethin' to be happy about?" Nathan asked gently as he carefully undid the buttons to the conman's vest.

"Chris…must be…all right," Ezra answered, wincing as Josiah eased the vest off while Nathan went to work on undoing the shirt.

"What makes you think that?" the healer continued, trying to keep the Southerner's mind off the obvious pain he was in.

Standish furled his eyebrows. "…You're…here…"

Nathan's hands stilled as he looked back up at the conman's face. "You think I wouldn't come check on you before I was done with Chris?"

Ezra's silence as he turned away was all the answer the healer needed. They would have to talk about this later, but for now he had to find out what was causing the labored breathing. He cut away the bandage, and with a light touch he danced his fingers up the Southerner's ribs. The original bruises on the flesh had faded; but a new one, a larger one roughly in the shape of the round metal brooch, was already beginning to form. The force of it jamming up against the healing scar would have been immensely painful, and the bones beneath no doubt earning themselves some new color to blend with the old would be enough to take any man down, but Nathan couldn't detect any breaks or even cracks in the ribs, nothing to explain why Ezra couldn't expand his lungs all the way.

"Ezra, can you try to take a deep breath?" he asked.

"Nooo," the Southerner practically pleaded, shaking his head.

The begging tone tore at Nathan's heart but he didn't know what else to do. "Listen now, I need you to breathe in real slow, but you can stop when it starts to hurt. I have to find out where the pain's coming from. Think you can do that?"

"Just try, brother," Josiah coaxed when Ezra didn't answer right away.

With a slow nod of his head, the gambler bit his lip and began sucking air through his nose very, very slowly. He didn't have to say anything for Nathan to know the exact moment when pain struck; the flinch and teeth sinking further into the bottom lip said enough. He slid his fingers along Ezra's chest again, stopping every so often to ask if he had reached the spot where the Southerner thought the problem was originating. A few more agonized breaths later and they found it.

"There," Ezra gasped out as the healer's touch moved near the top of the angry welt, his fingers resting between two ribs.

"All right, Ezra, you can try to relax now," Nathan soothed as he tried to look closer at the targeted area. The skin was definitely more irritated there, and upon much further inspection he noticed a tiny pinprick of bright red.

Pinprick.

Nathan whipped around to Josiah suddenly. "Let me see that brooch," he demanded. The preacher placed it in the ex-slave's hand and he flipped it over immediately, cursing when his suspicions were confirmed.

"Nate?" Josiah prodded.

The healer ignored him and rested a hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Ezra, I need you to listen real close, you hear?" He waited for the Southerner's nod. "Keep taking those shallow breaths and don't move around too much. I gotta get something to use as a stretcher so we can get you inside without jostling you around. It's real important that you stay still."

"What…?" Ezra started to ask.

Nathan looked between the conman and the worried preacher. "Looks like that pin got pushed inside and broke off. I gotta get it out of there before it does any more damage than it already has."

"Wonderful," the Southerner deadpanned.

Josiah patted his leg before standing. "I'll get something to carry him in with."

"No, I'll get it," Nathan said. "I gotta check on Chris and get some more help out here. Like I said, we gotta move him as smooth as we can, try to keep that pin from shifting around. It'll be hard enough for me to find as it is. Just keep him still."

Nathan rushed inside, his head spinning as he hurried into the room where they had put Chris. The gunslinger was pretty much passed out by that point and the healer was met with concerned looks from the other three. He needed to get that bullet out or the bleeding would be difficult to control, but if he didn't get that pin out of Ezra and the conman did so much as sneeze violently…

Vin read the indecision in the healer's eyes and knew right away that things outside must not have been going any better than in. "Nate, what can we do?" he prompted.

Nathan took a deep breath, trying to focus. "Um…I'll need some water boiling-"

"Already started that," JD informed him, "and we got some more supplies from that fake doctor. Everything should be ready for you to start; I mean, whenever you are."

"Thanks, JD," the healer said with a sincere nod before looking to Buck, who had taken over holding the compress. "How bad's he bleeding?"

"It ain't good," the ladies' man said quietly.

Nathan ran a hand over his head as he thought through the predicament. He hated to do it, especially after Ezra's earlier suspicions became known, but Chris would have to be dealt with first. He was bleeding and the Southerner wasn't, simple as that.

"All right, JD, get me that water and something to set my tools on. Buck, Vin, I need you to find something you can use to carry Ezra in here. You need to be real careful with him; Josiah'll explain."

They took off without a single question asked. Nathan was in his element now, and when he got like this he was in charge. Lives depended on it, friends' lives, and no one was going to be the one responsible for getting in the way of saving a friend.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Nathan worked quickly on removing the bullet, but he knew better than to rush the procedure. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he got ahead of himself and made a mistake, essentially signing the death warrant of one man while he was in too much of a hurry to get to the other. As it stood, he had requested they put Ezra in a room on the opposite side of the house so the sound of the man's sharp, pained little breaths wouldn't become a distraction.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Nathan tied off the last suture. He knew in all reality, as far as a gunshot wound surgery went, it hadn't taken him much time at all. The bullet had run around the outside of Chris's rib and was fairly easy to remove, the hole itself fairly neat and easy to sew back together, but it was time that took the healer away from getting to his other patient. Josiah and JD hadn't reappeared since they went in to stay with the gambler, so Nathan took that as a good sign that things were still under control at that end. Either that or things had taken a horrible turn for the worse and they just didn't want to disturb the delicate procedure being performed on Chris.

Out of habit, the healer began to gather up his supplies when a hand stopped him. He looked up to see Vin shaking his head. "We already got everything you need ready in the other room," the tracker said. "Buck and I'll clean up here and take care of Chris, you go get that thing outta Ez."

Nathan gave Vin and Buck a thankful nod before practically dashing out of the room, forcing himself to slow as he approached the doorway so as not to startle anyone. Things were very quiet inside the room, and for a terrifying moment the healer thought he was too late, but when he peeked inside he saw that both Josiah and JD were simply sitting by respectfully aware of the Southerner's need to be able to stay focused. Ezra lay on the bed perfectly still, one hand covering his eyes but not able to cover the strained creases in his forehead or the tear tracks left on his cheeks. His jaw was clenched tightly shut as he concentrated on not allowing his body to take the deep breath of air that Nathan knew it had to be craving after all this time. That patient ability of the conman to hone his mind on one thing and remain still for so long was the other reason Nathan had decided to treat him second; if it had been JD then the order may have been reversed.

"Ezra," the healer called quietly as he stepped up to the bed, smiling slightly as he took in the array of tools laid out neatly and ready for use. The gambler raised his free hand briefly in acknowledgement of Nathan's presence, but other than that he remained exactly as he was. "Now I know you want to ask, so I'm just gonna tell you that Chris'll be fine as long as he takes it easy." The slightest of nods from the Southerner followed this news. Nathan hesitated for a few seconds before moving on, knowing the next subject was going to be a tough one for everyone in the room. He blew out a breath before just deciding to jump in with the issues he was facing. "There's no easy way to put this, so I'm just gonna tell you I'm not so sure I can put you out for the surgery."

JD sat bolt upright in his chair. "He can't stay awake for that!"

"JD," Josiah scolded lightly, "let him explain."

"Look, I just don't know, I haven't done something like this before," Nathan said defensively before turning back to the gambler. "If I knock you out, you might try to breathe normal and do yourself more damage that way. If I don't, and you start struggling against what I'm doing, that won't do you no good, either."

"…Doit…" Ezra hissed out in one word. The healer nodded and started asking if Ez would prefer some sort of tea or straight alcohol to help deaden some of the pain, but the Southerner interrupted him with one word: "Now."

Nathan stopped talking. "What?" he asked in surprised.

Standish winced and held his breath for a second before continuing on with his statement. "…Can't…wait…" He pulled his hand away from his eyes and looked at the ex-slave. "...Now…please…"

If the pained, pleading look in the gambler's green eyes didn't convince the healer, the slight hint of panic definitely did. Ezra was beginning to lose hold of the fight between what his mind knew was best for his body and what his body was insisting was best for itself. His lungs wanted air, _now,_ and if they chanced waiting for painkillers to kick in then his control might slip.

"Dammit, should've given you something earlier," Nathan cursed at himself, but Ezra quickly shook his head.

The Southerner tapped a finger against his temple. "…Needed…clear…"

Nathan sighed, not liking any of the ways things had been playing out so far for the conman. He also hated that tiny part of him that was glad that if this had to happen to any of them, it had been Ezra; not because of the sometimes tension that existed between him and the Southerner, but because the only other one on the team that might have been able to last this long while remaining so calm would be Vin. Shaking his head of his thoughts, he turned to JD. The kid seemed to read something in his look and shook his head adamantly.

"I can handle it, Nathan," he shot out.

The healer smiled. "I know you can, JD, I was just gonna ask you to go get Vin or Buck in here. I'd feel better having one more man to help, just in case."

"Right," JD said with a slightly sheepish tone and set out. He returned less than a minute later with Vin in tow, which somewhat surprised Nathan. He figured the tracker wouldn't want to leave Chris's side, but as he watched the sharpshooter pull a chair up closer to the head of the bed and quietly murmur something into Ezra's ear, he was grateful for the choice. Standish nodded almost imperceptibly at whatever Vin was saying and some of the tension seemed to drain just slightly from his body as the tracker spoke. Vin was the perfect choice for keeping Ezra as calm as possible, and Nathan found himself thanking God that Tanner seemed to be aware of his own abilities and of his necessity in this matter. The man's bond with Chris was strong, but it wouldn't cloud the responsibility and connection he felt towards any of the others.

Nathan turned away from the private conversation and went back to focusing on the task at hand. "JD, I need you down by legs. Sit on 'em if you have to, but keep him still." He waited until the young sheriff got into position and nodded his approval. "Josiah, I want you up here on my side holding him down. Don't press on his chest unless you absolutely have to." The preacher moved around the requested side and squeezed Ezra's shoulder, offering his own silent form of support. "Vin, just keep doing what you're doing. Try to keep him focused on you." Tanner nodded as he grabbed for the gambler's hand that was moving its way back up to cover the green eyes. He gripped it and placed his own free hand over Ezra's face, understanding the conman's instinct and need to hide what he normally had such calculated control over. "Ezra," Nathan continued, "you just keep concentrating on your breathing and listen to Vin's voice. Can you do that?"

At the Southerner's hesitant nod, Nathan drew in a breath and used the scalpel to draw a small red line in the man's flesh…

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Making it just around to the other side of the doorway, Nathan pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor, using his drawn up knees as a prop to rest his elbows on as he bowed his head. Exhaustion quickly began to set in as the adrenaline from the stress of the situation rolled out; it had been close, much too close. Ezra had finally cracked, sucking in a huge, desperate gulp of air just as Nathan slid the pin out. The Southerner had done impossibly well under the circumstances though, and Nathan couldn't help but feel immensely proud of him for it. Hell, he was proud of all of them. Vin had kept up a constant litany of words in the gambler's ear, talking more than Nathan had ever seen him do even if the only one who could hear him was Ezra. The tracker's hand was most likely horribly bruised after all the pressure Standish was crushing into it, but he never even flinched; Nathan would have to take a look at it in a little bit just to make sure it didn't need wrapping. Josiah had simply hummed gospel music throughout the entire procedure as he held Ezra's torso firmly to the bed, setting a sort of pacing to keep Ezra's breaths slower and more even. He actually hadn't needed to use that much pressure to keep Standish pinned down; the conman had only tried to struggle a few times and that was more muscle reflex to the pain than a purposeful reaction. He would get himself back under control fairly quickly between his own stubborn will, Vin's ramblings, Josiah's hums, and JD's…well, JD had gone with his own special approach to distract Ezra from what was going on. For the most part he stayed oddly quiet, but anytime the gambler started to slip, the kid would ask some random yes or no question so that all Ez would have to do was nod or shake his head to give an answer. There didn't seem to be any connection between the questions, just a spewing out of whatever was the first thing on the young sheriff's mind. The funny thing was that the general outlandish nonsense seemed to snap Standish out of his panic every time, the absurdity hitting him like a slap in the face. There were even a couple times when the healer had noticed traces of a smile on Ezra's lips as he answered, and Nathan couldn't remember there ever being a time where he had been so grateful for JD's presence.

"You all right?" Josiah asked, snapping Nathan back to the present.

"Yeah, just tired," the healer answered, blowing out a shaky breath. "That was…"

"Some mighty fine doctoring," Josiah said with a smile. He reached a hand down and pulled his friend to his feet. "Come on, brother, let's go check on Chris and then get you to bed."

For once, Nathan didn't argue.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Ezra was yanked from his blissfully pain-free dream world back into a harsh, sore reality as his traitorous body attempted to roll itself over. Something that fell between a gasp and a groan escaped his lips, drawing the attention of his current bedside sitter who gently helped guide him back to a more comfortable position.

"Easy, Ez," Buck chuckled lightly, "I know you like sleepin' on your side, but I don't think that's gonna work out for ya just yet."

"Your powers of deduction are astounding," Ezra mumbled back sarcastically.

Buck ignored the bitter tone and smiled down at the conman. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment. You want anything? Water? I could heat up some of Nathan's tea if you want, or he said if you were feelin' too bad we could give you some laudanum."

"Just water, thank you," the Southerner answered, already feeling sleep threatening to pull him back into its embrace. He bit back the urge to cry out as Buck gently helped him sit up enough to drink, and quietly rode out the nauseating flare in his chest with white knuckles gripping the blankets as he was lowered back down.

"You sure you don't want anything for the pain?" the ladies' man asked after Standish seemed to have himself under better control.

"I'm fine," Ezra choked out rather unconvincingly, which he naturally tried to cover by falling into his habit of using diversionary tactics. "How is our fearless leader faring?" The look of sadness and something definitively…darker…that settled on the ladies' man's face had Standish fearing the worst. "Buck?"

Hearing the genuine concern in Ezra's tone, Buck snapped out of his thoughts of vengeance and forced himself to give the conman another small smile. "He'll be all right. In fact, I'd say right now he's doing a might better than you, physically."

Standish allowed himself to relax at the news. "Yes, well, I imagine our good Mr. Jackson didn't have to quite literally play 'find the needle in the haystack' with him."

"You'd be right, there, pard. Nate said he was real impressed with you, by the way. Sorry I couldn't be here to help you through it."

"Nonsense," Ezra said through a yawn, cut short by a wince as he breathed in a little too deeply. "Your services were needed elsewhere."

Buck watched for a few moments as the Southerner struggled to stay awake for some reason. "What's on your mind?" he finally asked.

"When do you think we can depart from this nightmarish place?" Ezra abruptly muttered back.

The question caught Buck off guard slightly; Chris had asked the very same thing almost the instant he had woken up. "Reckon that's up to you and Chris," he finally answered. "He was about ready to ride off no sooner than his eyes were open. Can't say I blame him. Stayin' here's just a constant reminder of a dream he lost a second time."

"I understand exactly how he feels," the gambler mumbled as he finally lost his hold on consciousness.

Buck wasn't certain if the comment was meant to be said aloud or if it was just something that a tired mind accidentally let slip through the filters. "What are you talkin' about, Ez?" he asked quietly as he pulled the blanket up further on the conman's body. Whatever it was, he'd get to the bottom of it; having Chris moping around was already going to be bad enough. He didn't want to see another of his brothers heading down the same miserable path.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Vin's light doze was disturbed by a muffled curse reaching his ears. Upon cracking his eyes open, he shook his head as he watched the gunslinger trying in vain to work his way into a shirt.

"Prob'ly shouldn't be doin' that, cowboy," he scolded lightly.

"Do I look like I give a damn," Larabee snapped back. "Help me get my damn shirt on."

Vin stood and stretched, deliberately taking his time in making his way over to where Chris still struggled. "You're just gonna have to take this right back off when Nathan comes to look at ya," he warned.

Chris sneered as he pushed his hand through the sleeve that Vin held out for him. "He can look at me when we get back to town. I'm not staying here any longer than I have to."

"What about Ezra?" Vin asked as he sat back to let Larabee fasten his own buttons.

The gunslinger's hands stilled as cursed under his breath again. "How is he?" he asked, feeling the tug of guilt that the Southerner hadn't been his first concern.

"Sleepin' last I checked. Buck's watchin' -" His eyes caught movement outside the window on the ground below and he jumped over to confirm what he thought he had seen. "Ah, hell," he groaned and rushed over to the doorway in order to yell down the hall. "Buck! Get your ass outside! Now!"

There was a pause, then a loud stream of expletives as the ladies' man made a dash for the door. Curious, Chris gingerly made his way to the window and peered down, shaking his head at the sight below. Standish had apparently snuck out from under Buck's nose and was now sitting in the dirt behind the wagon, sifting through it with one hand while keeping the other tucked protectively against his side. The gunslinger couldn't help but snort out a little laugh as the ladies' man stormed over and began giving the escaped patient a piece of his mind, his face turning redder by the minute as Ezra simply continued to stare up at him with an almost bored expression. Nathan, Josiah, and JD came scurrying out next, surrounding the gambler as they lit into him in turns. His response to that was to arch his eyebrow at them in an annoyed fashion as he literally waved his hand in a shooing motion.

Chris turned a smug eye back on Tanner. "Looks good enough to travel to me," he grinned as he tried to shove the window open. Vin sighed and helped him with it, then stepped back as the gunslinger hollered down to the group below. "Hey Ezra, when you're done playing down there in the dirt, what do you think about going home?"

The Southerner looked up and flashed his gold-toothed grin. "My sentiments exactly, Mr. Larabee. I was merely getting a head start," he said with his trademark salute.

Nathan threw up his arms part in exasperation, part in defeat. "If you two idiots insist on leaving today, at least give me some time to get things ready. Didn't spend all day patching ya'll up yesterday just to have to do it all over again. Both of you go on back to bed until I tell you it's time go, and I mean it or we ain't leaving at all."

Chris nodded his assent but didn't budge from the window until he watched Josiah and Buck ease Standish to his feet. The pain became instantly clear in the gambler's eyes, but what bothered the gunslinger more was the fleeting glimpse of pure loss that trailed in the wake of the physical hurt. He didn't think the others caught the look, but he recognized it instantly, knowing it for what it was because he was sure the same emotion was mirrored on his own face. The thought brought him back around to his own situation, instantly sobering his mood.

Vin reached out and touched his arm, guiding him back to the bed. "Come on, cowboy, I'll help ya get together whatever you need, then you can just relax 'til we're ready to go, alright?"

Chris nodded absently as he lowered himself down to the mattress, careful to suppress the grunt of pain that threatened to creep out. He hurt like hell, knew Ezra probably hurt worse, but they were leaving today whether anyone liked it or not. He was just glad that, for whatever reason, the gambler seemed to be on his side this time.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Ezra hissed as he was helped back into the bed, the sound turning into a breathy chuckle as his head connected with the pillows.

Buck scowled at him. "You won't be laughin' when Nathan kicks your butt for ripping your stitches."

Standish dismissed his concerns. "I assure you, I'm quite fine; nothing is torn. Besides, I do believe Mr. Jackson was very adamant about not wanting to perform any more miraculous feats of the medical nature upon our persons; thus, I can say with absolute certainty that he will _not_ be 'kicking my butt' any time in the foreseeable future."

The ladies' man stared at him for a second before turning his confused gaze to Josiah. "You sit with him, I'll go help Nate with…whatever the hell it is he's doing."

Josiah looked at the little smirk that still played on the conman's lips. "You seem to be in good spirits this morning, brother. Kind of unusual for you at such an early hour…"

"A calculated necessity," Standish explained. "If I had waited too long to effect my escape, I risked either being caught by Mr. Wilmington in his habit of being an early riser, or failing to beat Mr. Larabee's own drive to depart from this dreary place. Either of those occurrences would have halted my last attempt to locate my misplaced diamond."

The preacher shook his head. "Seems a silly thing for you to go hurting yourself worse over a piece of rock, but I take it by your chipper mood that you found it?"

The smile fell off the gambler's face. "Unfortunately, no, I fear my 'piece of rock,'" he spat out the words a little bitterly, "is lost to this little corner of hell for all eternity. I was merely entertained by the concept that I, of all people, seem to have inadvertently managed to become the first to procure a smile from our otherwise somber leader."

Josiah barked out a laugh of his own and patted Ezra on the leg. "You're a good man, Ezra, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"It's a bit late for that," the conman huffed as he closed his eyes. "Don't feel inclined to stand guard over me. I admit, I fear I may have overexerted myself slightly and have no further plans of leaving this bed until it's time for our fated departure."

"Then I won't stand guard," the preacher shrugged. "I'll just sit here as one friend keeping another company."

Ezra's lips tweaked into a small grin as he allowed himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"I got it, Tanner," Chris groused as the sharpshooter tried to help him walk out to the padded wagon.

Vin sighed and let go. "Fine, ya ornery cuss, do it yourself. If you fall down, I ain't helpin' ya back up."

The gunslinger grumbled something under his breath and shuffled the rest of the way on his own, holding his side where his damaged ribs were protesting the motion. He looked ahead to where JD and Nathan were shadowing Ezra's trek and wondered how the hell the Southerner had managed to pull off his little morning stunt on his own. For a guy that practically blanched at the concept of getting dirt under his fingernails, he could be tougher than solid granite when he wanted to be.

Except, at the moment, the granite looked like it may have a crack or two. Even from a few feet away, Chris could see the gambler's jaw clench tight as he was helped up into the back of the wagon. In the few minutes it took to get him settled against the pillows, his face had paled considerably and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his pinched brow.

Nathan frowned at his patient. "This is a bad idea, we should stay here another day."

"No," both Chris and Ezra answered in unison. A look of grateful understanding passed between the two of them before Nathan turned his glare on the gunslinger.

"Quit encouraging him, you're no better off. Now get up here, you're next," the healer growled as he aided Chris's awkward clamber to his place beside Ezra. By the time he laid his head back, he figured he probably didn't look any better than the Southerner had and his respect for the man's grit went up another notch. Both remained still, just breathing through the passing pain as the others went about making them more comfortable for the trip. It was going to be a long ride, but Chris knew he wouldn't regret a moment of it; and from the look on Ezra's face, neither would he. They'd suffer through it together.

"You all ready back there?" Josiah asked as he stepped up to take the driving reins.

"'Shod with wings is the horse of him who rides; On a Spring day the road that leads to home,'" Ezra murmured softly.

Josiah smiled. "Bai Juyi, and I'll take that as a yes." With that, he flipped the reins and urged the horses forward into a steady clip. The wagon rolled ahead at a leisurely pace, minimizing the jostling of its injured passengers who lay quietly as thoughts of all that they had lost began to plague their minds. Chris merely closed his eyes against the scene of the cursed homestead; if he never saw it again, "never" would be too soon. Ezra, on the other hand, seemed to get more fidgety as they pulled away. He kept his eyes focused on the ground where the wagon had been stationed, startling everyone when he suddenly shouted at Josiah to stop when they hadn't even reached the end of the main drive yet. The preacher barely had a chance to pull up the horses before the gambler launched himself from the back, stumbling horribly when he hit the ground. With a grunted curse, he gripped at his chest and managed to get his feet back underneath him enough to propel himself forward a few yards before dropping back down to the ground.

"Ezra, what the hell are you doing?" Nathan shouted as he dismounted and rushed over to where the Southerner was again clawing through the dirt.

Without looking up, Standish continued to frantically feel along the ground. "I saw the light hit it, Nathan, I'm sure of it. Help me, please. I need to find it."

The healer was about to scold him again, but the sheer desperation in Ezra's tone made him stop. With a sigh, he knelt down and started to sift through the dust, keeping one eye on what he was doing and the other on his friend. He could see the pain in the Southerner's features, but there was also a determination there that wouldn't be stopped until the man either found what he had seen or was convinced that the object of his search didn't exist.

"Oh," Ezra sighed dejectedly as he pulled something up from the dirt. He sat back and opened up his hand, revealing a partially flattened bullet to the ex-slave. With a sad chuckle that almost made it sound like he was crying, Ezra let the tiny piece of metal that had nearly killed him fall back to the earth before he, too, began to topple to the side. Alarmed, Nathan reached out and caught him, holding him steady as Vin and JD raced forward to help. Josiah was in the process of turning the wagon back around while Buck wound up having to sit in it with Chris, doing his best to make sure the gunslinger stayed put despite the man's loud protests.

"That's it, we're staying at least another day," Nathan groused, feeling the slight trembles running through Ezra's lean form.

Standish shook his head, keeping his gaze lowered to the ground. "No. Please, Nathan, I won't be the one responsible for Chris having to spend one more night here. If you get me back in the wagon I won't move for the duration of the journey home. You have my word."

Nathan looked up at Vin and JD, seeing the same concern he felt mirrored on their faces. They had all heard it in the Southerner's voice, a sense of giving up on something important, something on a much grander scale than just the loss of the diamond they knew he had been mourning. Sharing a silent agreement, they waited patiently for the wagon to slide up beside them and gently lifted Standish into the back, Buck assisting from where he stood beside Chris. The ladies' man then traded places with Nathan so the healer could check on Ezra's wound; during the whole process the conman never uttered a sound.

"He all right?" Chris finally asked softly, sensing something had happened beyond just a foolish uprising of greed.

Nathan glanced up at Ezra's face which was turned to the side away from them, his eyes gazing into some far off, imaginary place. "I wish I knew," the healer answered quietly and went back to tending to the physical hurts, the ones he was confident he could fix. The emotional hurts were on a far more unfamiliar level; those were something that the seven of them as a team would have to deal with together, for Ezra and for Chris. It would take time, but if any one the rest of them had anything to say about it - and they would - their boys would heal.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

It was the day after they had gotten back into town and Chris already felt well enough to sit out on the boardwalk on his own, just watching the town go by. He was wrapped snugly in a blanket mulling over the events of the past few days, past few years, wondering if there had been obvious signs he had somehow missed that had led to the deaths of his wife and son. Ella had been good; better than Ezra at his own game, actually.

Chris glanced up at the clinic where their resident conman was still holed up. Standish hadn't said a word the rest of the ride home, and not much more than answering simple questions since then. As much as the gambler sometimes irritated Chris to no end, he had to admit that seeing the spark go out of Ezra's soul was more than a little unnerving. What was worse was that no one had an explanation for the man's depressive mood; surely he wasn't that upset after losing one simple diamond. Unless…

Mary interrupted his thoughts with a letter addressed to him care of the Clarion News office. He knew who it was from before he even opened it and part of him didn't want to, but he needed to see it. He also knew he needed to talk to Mary about the recent happenings and turned to her to do just that, but somehow the words wouldn't come. Now wasn't the time, not with everything so heavy hanging over his head, not with a letter from that madwoman tainting his fingers. They would have to talk later.

At her departure Vin appeared at Chris's side, already knowing what it was that the gunslinger held in his hands. The tracker didn't gloat, not really, and Chris didn't mind the oh-so-subtle "told ya so" underlying Vin's words. Next time Ella was going down; he wouldn't hesitate to kill her, not again. Too many lives had already been lost through her actions, and the ones she didn't kill were still left in some ways broken.

"How's Buck doing?" he asked, having noticed that his normally outgoing friend had also been a little withdrawn since Hilda's death.

Vin shrugged. "As good as he can, considerin'. Been stayin' away from the ladies, but I don't think it'll last. JD's been keepin' him busy anyway. He'll be all right."

"Any word on what's eating at Ezra?" the gunslinger continued.

"Hell, wish I knew," Vin sighed. "Says he's just tired but I know it's bull. He's actin' like somebody shot his horse and he's doin' his damndest to try to convince himself it doesn't matter, even though it's killin' him inside."

With a soft curse and a grunt, Chris shoved himself out of the chair and slowly began shuffling towards the clinic. On his way past Vin, he shoved the letter against the sharpshooter's chest. "Burn it," he requested, and received a sharp little nod in return.

"You're gonna be the last one he'll want to talk to," Vin said softly as the gunslinger moved away.

Chris stopped and spoke over his shoulder. "Why's that?"

"'Cause he won't think whatever's buggin' him is as important as what you're goin' through," Vin explained. "He's feelin' guilty for bein' so down about somethin' that doesn't measure up to your problems."

"Then I'm the one he definitely needs to talk to," Chris concluded. "Least I can tell him whether he has the right to feel guilty or not."

The gunslinger shot Vin the tiniest little smile before continuing on his way. As the tracker turned to head into the saloon, he ran into Buck and JD watching out the swinging doors.

"Ya know," Buck started, "I'm startin' to think Ezra being so down might have at least one benefit."

"What's that?" Vin asked.

The ladies' man nodded in Chris's direction. "Gives him something to do, someone else that needs his help. It'll keep his mind off Ella for a bit."

JD snickered and both men turned to look at him. He explained with a broad smile on his face. "Looks like Ez is using one of his - what is it? - 'diversionary tactics' without even meaning to."

Vin and Buck both smiled back and the ladies' man wrapped a friendly arm over the kid's shoulder, steering him towards their usual table. "Let's just hope it works as well as when he does it on purpose," he said.

"I'll drink to that," Vin added, and he waved Inez over to take their orders.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

As Chris shoved open the clinic door, Nathan opened his mouth to scold the man for trudging up the stairs on his own, but changed his mind as he saw where the gunslinger was focusing his gaze. Ezra was lying in the bed, head turned slightly away from Josiah who was quietly reading to him. The book was _Moby Dick_ , one of Ezra's personal favorites that normally the gambler would mouth the words to whenever he was holed up in the clinic under similar circumstances. Today, though, his eyes were slightly glassed over, utterly uninterested in the adventures of Captain Ahab and his white whale. He didn't even look up at the sound of the door opening and shutting.

"Josiah," Nathan called instead, "I need to pick up some things from Mrs. Potter and I could use a hand. You mind?"

Josiah closed the book and offered both Nathan and Chris a small smile. "Not at all, brother." As he moved past the gunslinger he placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Normally I'd tell you to go easy on him, but you do what you need to do to get him back to us."

Chris nodded and made his way to the chair that the preacher had just vacated, lowering himself into it gingerly. Ezra still hadn't moved a muscle aside from blinking as he absently gazed at the far wall, and Chris watched him for a few minutes while he debated on how to start the conversation. Thinking back on Vin's words, he decided maybe a little tough love was exactly what the stubborn Southerner might need, if only to light that little flame that had seemed to burn out of the man. Of course, that meant Chris would have to open up, too, but maybe that would be good for the both of them.

"She killed my family," he growled in a low, bitter tone that snapped Standish out of his trance. "My wife, my son, they died for nothing but an insane woman's obsession. You think whatever's going on with you is worse than that?"

Ezra turned wide eyes on him - hurt, guilt-ridden eyes – and sucked in a breath to speak before suddenly clamping his jaw shut and lowering his gaze to the bedspread. For a second Chris took the cardsharp's dejected look like a punch in the gut and he wondered if maybe this wasn't the right way to go about this after all, but he had already cracked his own floodgate open a tiny bit. The emotions behind Ella's betrayal had begun to leak through with those first few words, and seeing Ezra lying there looking for all the world like he _had_ lost more than the still-mourning gunslinger only served to push that gate wide open. He felt the rising fury, knew he shouldn't be taking it out on Standish, but it all suddenly became too much for him to handle. Moving faster than was probably permissible by his protesting body, he leaned forward and snatched the front of Ezra's nightshirt, pulling him up to a sitting position and forcing the man to look at him. Standish hissed at the abrupt shift in position, but otherwise said nothing as the gunslinger poured out everything he was feeling.

"Dammit, Ezra, do have any idea what I almost did? Spent the last few years of my life doing nothing but getting drunk, picking fights, and nearly getting killed trying to track down the monster that killed my family, and then I almost went and married her! What if I did? What if I never found out? What if I had stayed with her and spent the rest of my life happy? And with Sarah and Adam watching me, suffering for it?"

"Chris, I don't think-" Ezra started.

"You don't think what?" Chris continued, shaking the smaller man just a little bit. "That they'd be upset? Ella didn't kill them for revenge, she killed them for something worse – for _love._ And I damn near gave it to her!" He released his hold on Ezra's shirt and ran his hands through his hair, his tone going quieter. "And even after all that, I still didn't have the guts to shoot her. I knew what she did but I couldn't pull the damn trigger. I failed at doing the one thing that's kept me going since Sarah and Adam's deaths."

Both men sat quiet for several long minutes, Chris keeping his face tucked below his hands as he tried to calm himself down, Ezra sitting hunched forward with both arms wrapped around his ribcage, and both doing their best to breathe through their pain. In the end it was Standish who broke the silence first, reminding Chris why he had come up to the clinic in the first place. He needed to let the man speak if they were going to get through this; the gunslinger had already said his piece, albeit much more harshly than he had intended, so now it was Ezra's turn to get things off his chest.

"It's as you already said," the soft Southern drawl rolled out. "Acting out of love can have far more detrimental effects than acting out of revenge, and has a tendency to leave its mark on a wounded heart for far longer. I've played that particular fiddle enough times to know that the jaded lover will rarely, if ever, pull the trigger on the object of their once desire. I've walked away from many a con with a woman's gun pointed at my own back."

Chris sat back and dropped his hands down, wincing as he hugged on arm around his own injury. "Risky gamble. I aim to shoot next time I see her," he said, determination in his voice.

"Yes, I'd wager that you will," the gambler nodded as he tried to reach behind himself to prop his pillows up. Seeing the man's struggle, Chris moved to help him and muttered a quick apology as Ezra slowly leaned back against the headboard. The Southerner waved him off. "Don't, Mr. Larabee, your outburst was entirely justifiable. After all, you were the one who lost yet another chance at happiness, of simply holding the woman you wanted to be with, perhaps starting a new family that would actually accept you despite your flaws, putting down stable roots in the one place in your life that you ever felt comfortable with calling home-"

Standish suddenly fell silent again as he realized he had shifted from talking about Chris to speaking about himself, and the gunslinger knew it. Too late to take back what was revealed, he took a steadying breath as he tried to figure out how to salvage the conversation without saying too much. Larabee was looking at him, waiting for him to continue, so he settled on giving the man a vague answer.

"The diamond," he snorted, "hell, the governor's blood money if I'm going to be perfectly honest, was to be used in order to repurchase my saloon." He stopped there hoping it would be enough of an explanation for the man sitting so intently beside him. It wasn't.

Chris hadn't been around for much of the debacle between Maude and her son that caused Ezra to lose his business, but he had heard enough about it to know that his men hadn't been very supportive of the Southerner in the situation. However, based on Standish's own reaction to the whole event, he assumed it had just been another of the man's small schemes that had failed and was quickly forgotten. Apparently he had been sorely mistaken.

"What's so special about that saloon, Ez?" he asked quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Standish huffed. "I am obviously not meant to have it. There is absolutely nothing special about owning a saloon, Mr. Larabee, and it's about time I accepted that fact."

The gunslinger frowned. "So you're just giving up on something you want because you failed a couple times? Maybe that means I should just forget about trying to ever have a family again."

The Southerner looked alarmed. "No, of course not." He shook his head in frustration. "Look, Chris, fate put me in this world to be a drifter and a cheat; people like myself are not destined to achieve their goals. You, on the other hand, are made of nobler traits that I'm sure will be rewarded with your desires, ones that, I must admit, are far less…petty than my own."

Chris barked out a laugh much to the gambler's annoyance. "Ezra, you're full of more crap than Buck is."

"Excuse me?" Standish asked, perplexed.

"First of all, you're not the man Maude raised you to be and we all know it. Seen you nearly get yourself killed for other people too many times for you to say I'm nobler than you. You just hide it better than most." He bit back a chuckle as he caught the slightest flush on Ezra's cheeks. "Second, sounds to me like you and I have pretty much the same goals in mind."

"I want a saloon, you want a family," Ezra argued.

"So do you," Chris countered. "The saloon's just your way of taking that first step, isn't it? You won't let yourself be happy with anyone until you feel like you can be part of the town as a contributing member, right? You're too ashamed of what you do now to bring anyone else into your life? You think they won't want you just for who you are?"

The conman's fingers curled in on themselves more and more with each word Chris spoke until he had had enough and slammed a fist down onto the mattress. "No one wants me for who I am!" he practically shouted. "Not my mother, not my relatives, not my so-called friends, no one! And why should they? I've lived my entire life with the sole purpose of making people miserable just so I could make it to the next day with a little extra change in my pockets. I am a liar, a thief, I can't be trusted - we've already proven that, haven't we? So the answer is yes, Mr. Larabee, to everything. I will not bring someone I care about into my life until I actually _have_ one! An honest one, one in which I could have been proud to support someone with as pure a heart as Li-"

He cut himself off again, irritated with his sudden inability to keep his own words in check.

"Li Pong?" Chris verified. "Didn't you say she went back to her family?"

Ezra sighed. "I sent her back. I think… I think she might have stayed if I had asked her, but…" he shook his head. "She deserved better."

Chris dropped his gaze. "Ya know, for someone who puts up such a show of being a selfish bastard, I'm starting to wonder whether you actually do _anything_ for yourself."

"I have a lot to make up for," the Southerner replied softly.

They fell silent again for a few minutes, this time Chris being the one to volunteer to break it. "Li Pong's not the only one who wanted you around, you know. You got six men who are happy to have you at their backs."

"Huh," Ezra laughed dryly, "I have six men who are simply happy that I'm not playing for the other team. I'm handy to keep around, nothing more, as is my usual role. You don't have to pretend for my sake that our relationship goes any deeper than that; believe me, I am quite content with the knowledge that you've found my services useful for far longer than anyone else has up to this point."

Chris felt himself growing angry all over again, but this time it had nothing to do with his own problems. Standish had been part of their team for a long time now, had risked his life for theirs more times than the gunslinger could count, and the whole time he was doing it he never thought that he was anything more to them but a tool? Yet he still backed them up, still put up with all the little abuses they dealt onto him, still had this notion that they were all more deserving of a happy life than he was; and the thought made Larabee ill. Ezra, a man who spent his entire life surrounded by people but always alone, still felt like an outcast amongst them because they had never made a conscious effort to make him feel otherwise. They did have a tendency to leave him out of the fold, to snap at him faster than they would each other, to judge him first, to throw accusations in his direction. Did they worry about him when he was missing or injured? Yes. Did they protect him in a fight as much as they would any other member of the team? Of course. But did they do anything to show him that it was because they wanted him around as a friend and not as some damn puppet to be toyed with at their discretion? No, no they really hadn't, and the worst part about it was that Ezra seemed perfectly okay with it. The man accepted it as if it were just the way things should be, the way things always were, even though he was also obviously being crushed by that notion. The saloon wasn't just about Li Pong or fitting in with the town or having an honest profession for once; it was also about proving to _them_ that he could stand up as one of their equals, that maybe they could respect him as a person if he showed them he was good at something other than playing the con game, that if he did the work and time to act like an average person, he could finally belong to them as a member of the family and not just as the family pet. For Ezra, every time he watched the means to owning that saloon slip away from him again, it was like losing that tentative grasp on his connection with the rest of humanity. The thought that perhaps the world kept snatching that dream away from him, that fate genuinely wished for him to remain alone forever…

"Dammit, Ezra," Chris cursed softly. He stood up slowly and headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Standish asked in a tone that said he really didn't care, but was just asking simply because it would be expected of him.

Chris looked back, determination dancing in his eyes. "To fix the damn mess we made," he promised, and slid out the door, slamming it behind him.

"What mess?" Ezra asked to the empty room, honestly confused as to what the gunslinger had been talking about.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

As the days passed by wounds began to slowly heal, both physical and emotional. JD stuck close to Buck and seemed to know exactly when to joke, when to be serious, and when it was finally a good time to gently tease the man back into the pursuit of the fairer sex. Buck, in turn, kept a close eye on Chris. He and Vin kept the gunslinger company, made sure he didn't fall too far back into the bottle on the bad nights, didn't push himself too hard when he wanted to work out his demons, and helped him with whatever he needed in regards to the little project he had taken upon himself to complete. That was where Ezra came into play who the man in black was constantly watching like a hawk, reading all the small signs that screamed "hopeless abandonment" that he had never noticed before, that he should have noticed. The gambler had dragged himself out of the melancholy state he had fallen into, laughing at all the right moments, allowing his wit to make its token appearance as needed, going back to some short games of poker here and there as his body allowed, but Chris could see that part of the Southerner was still missing. They all could see it, actually, especially after what they had been told in regards to the conversation between gunslinger and conman involving the true inner turmoil of their black sheep. Yes, Ezra was coming back to them as the same sly, smooth-talking gambler with a wicked sense of humor, but it wasn't really _him_ that was returning. He was hiding behind another of his masks, a disguise born of his own personality traits from back when he had something to work for. Now he was simply playing the role of his former self so that life would return to normal for the rest of them, selflessly accepting his place (as he saw it) beneath them with an empty heart. They knew now that he would just continue to exist that way too, until the time came when either they no longer needed his services (as he expected), the hollowness growing inside took over (which they wouldn't allow), or they did something to fix the problem before it got any further out of hand than it already had (which was exactly what Chris was trying to do). If Ezra had noticed that every day since Chris had left him in the clinic that one of the seven was missing until the sun began to fade below the horizon, he didn't mention anything about it. Had he noticed, no doubt he was just assuming that the others were simply engaging in some activity that he was not invited to participate in due to his position on the team; the gunslinger just hoped one of the men would come back successful so the Southerner could realize what they were doing was solely for him.

It was early afternoon and the weather was warm, luring the six peacekeepers who were still in town out onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Ezra glanced up from the cards he was dealing and squinted at something down the road. "Mr. Tanner appears to have returned early," he stated casually as Vin came tearing into town. The comment was confirmation that he _had_ been aware of the goings on, and the rest of the Seven only hoped that the tracker's arrival was a sign of something good to show for their secretive behavior as of late.

The broad smile on Vin's face as he practically leapt off Peso's back brought forth a cheer from the five men who were in on the surprise. The gambler, for his part, seemed to sink back in his chair, seeming to distance himself from the celebration that he was not privy to. When five men grinning like idiots turned in his direction though, he looked at them suspiciously and began to fidget in his seat.

"Am I missing something here?" he asked uneasily.

"Not anymore," Vin said as he strode up to the gambler. "Hold out your hand."

Ezra tentatively did as he was asked, his eyes growing wide the second he felt the rock drop into his palm. For several long seconds he just stared at his missing diamond, the mixed emotions flooding through him shifting around too fast for him to be able to do anything more. When he did finally tear his gaze away from the symbol of all that he thought he had lost, the others couldn't help but feel a little saddened by the utter confusion in his eyes.

"This is what you all-" he swallowed past the lump growing in his throat. "Why did you do this?"

Chris shrugged as he picked up the cards Ezra had dealt in front of him. "Figured one of us might as well still get what we wanted out of what happened at Ella's."

The conman watched in pure shock as Chris casually laid down a couple cards and signaled for Ezra to deal him a few more. His hands moved automatically to complete the request but it was clear that his mind was busy trying to sort out this new turn of events.

It was Buck's turn to go next and he followed Chris's lead, maintaining a "it's only natural, no big deal" attitude as he studied his own hand. "The men your ma sold the saloon to already said they'd be willing to part with it if the price were right," he informed the gambler as he also motioned to be dealt two more cards.

Josiah took up the game and the conversation next. "That diamond might be a little dinged up but I'm sure it'll still fetch a pretty penny. Mr. Slade over in Eagle Bend told me he'd take a look at it, assured me he'd make a fair offer if the cut was still good." Ezra handed the preacher the requested single card, a tiny smile starting to grow on his face.

Nathan frowned as he simply folded his hand, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he said, "If what you get for that rock isn't enough, we've all got a little tucked away we'd be more than happy to part with - as investors, of course."

"Of course," Ezra grinned as he turned to JD.

The kid didn't disappoint. "And some of the other folks in town said they'd be willing to help out, too, if we need 'em." The practiced gambler honestly couldn't tell whether the smile on the sheriff's face was due to a good hand or was born from having been a part of something good they had all done for him. He suspected perhaps it was a bit of both.

Vin pulled up a chair and squished in beside the Southerner. "Inez even said she didn't mind takin' a pay cut for a little bit while you're shut down."

"Shut down?" Ezra asked, not following.

"Well yeah," Buck smiled. "Figured you'd want to do some remodeling, get the place fixed up to your standards."

"Parker's lined up to refurbish your tables," Chris said as he tossed out another card.

"And Mrs. Potter said she'd be willing to take payments on that piano you keep looking at in her catalogue," JD informed Ezra excitedly.

Flabbergasted, Ezra shook his head and gave up on dealing out the cards. "You've clearly set all this up in advance. What would have been the outcome had you never located the diamond?"

Chris smiled at him. "Wasn't an option."

Vin jumped up suddenly and reached his hand into his pocket. "Oh, almost forgot, managed to track this down for you." He stuck a piece of paper into Ezra's palm. "Just in case you wanted to get back in touch with her once you got settled in."

The Southerner held the paper gingerly, swallowing several more times as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him to the point of tears. Josiah reached across the table and grabbed the cards, taking over in Ezra's stead as he struggled to maintain control. They finished out the entire hand before the normally verbose man was finally able to speak.

"Gentlemen, I don't know what to say." They ignored the way his voice cracked slightly. "A simple 'thank you' doesn't seem enough."

Nathan shrugged. "It's good enough for me. Besides, we kinda owed it to you after…you know…last time."

Ezra smiled softly back at him. "I already forgave you for that. I, of all people, understand how persuasive Mother can be."

"Still didn't make it right," Josiah huffed. "The fact is, we haven't been doing much right since day one."

JD nodded. "Yeah, we were maybe kinda hopin' we could start over and not mess things up this time." His eyes lit up like he had an idea and he thrust out his hand. "JD Dunne, sheriff of Four Corners."

With a surprised grin, Ezra took the hand and shook it. "Ezra P Standish, gam-" He shook his head and shot everyone at the table a wry smile. "Owner of the Standish Tavern. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheriff Dunne."

They went around the table, clearing the slate, taking those first steps towards a fresh start as a whole unit, a family of equal individuals. When it was Chris's turn, the gunslinger stood up and leaned down close to Ezra's ear. "Just to make sure you understand," he started, "you never needed this saloon to prove anything to us. We'd have kept you just the way you were."

Standish pulled back and nodded, keeping his head ducked. With everything these men had just done for him, he _did_ understand. Perhaps he was the black sheep of their family but he was still theirs, not as a servant or as a pet, but as a brother. He did want the diamond, did want the saloon so that he could start making an honest living for himself, but at the moment those things didn't matter to him. Just by their actions, their quest to bring him – a simple conman that no one had ever really cared about – happiness, that's what gave him the feeling of belonging that he had been in search of for so long.

"You all right, Ez?" Buck asked, snapping the gambler out of his reverie.

Ezra wiped a thumb across one eye unashamedly. "More than all right, Mr. Wilmington," he beamed as he got to his feet. "I admit, it's all just a bit much for me to take in. Would any of you be offended if I took a walk to clear my head a little?"

"Take all the time you need, brother," Josiah said with a shake of his head.

Standish tipped his hat at them. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "for all of this."

As he strolled away, fingering the diamond in one hand and the paper that would reunite him with Li Pong in the other, he caught sight of Mrs. Travis slipping into the Clarion office. With a sly little smirk, he changed course and headed in that direction. Mr. Larabee had set aside everything in order to ensure that the dreams of a lowly gambler could come true; it was only fair of Ezra that he should at least try to return the favor, and he could also be very persuasive…

_**The End!** _


End file.
